A poem by Jane Hirshfield
from the 'migrating skies' issue of island
 

THE MOUNTAIN

One moment, the mountain is clear
in strong morning sunlight. The next, vanished in fog.
I return to Tu Fu, afraid to look up again
from my reading and find in the window moonlight -
but when I do, the fog is still there,
and only the ancient poet's hair has turned grey
while a single wild goose passed, silently climbing.

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